


Khandav

by filia_noctis



Series: Shyam. Or, Krishna's Mahabharat, And How He Made It [2]
Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filia_noctis/pseuds/filia_noctis
Summary: Shyam is very, very good at what he does (a re-telling of the Khandav episode of the Mahabharata).Inspired by and located within toujours_nigel's Electorate verse.





	Khandav

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toujours_nigel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/gifts).



> This fic locates itself heavily in the electorate verse created by @toujours_nigel.  
> Hindi words used:  
> Mar jayenge: We will die  
> Bhai: Brother  
> Mantriji: The minister (Member of Parliament)  
> Bilkul: Completely  
> Ji: Yes  
> Bhumi-hara: land-less (previously landed)  
> Naxals: Radical Leftist groups active in Indian minority and tribal politics, known to run parallel governments, secessionist and guerilla resistance from tribal and/or underdeveloped, forested backwaters  
> Janta: Populace
> 
>  
> 
> BSF: Acronym for Border Security Force
> 
> The names used belong to the characters:  
> Shyam/ Kinu: Krishna  
> Aditya: Lord Surya  
> J.S. Indra: Lord Indra  
> Ajaat (short for Ajaatshatru): Yudhisthira  
> Parth: Arjuna  
> Pritha: Kunti

“Mar jayenge, Kinu Bhai.”  
Shyam nodded, they would. They couldn’t be allowed to.  
“Bhai,” Sudam coughed discreetly, “Can’t we do something about those reports?”  
“Bribe census officers and change facts?,” Shyam has a small smile for that, “Too much resource wasted, too small a result. Not worth it. The problem isn’t official data, Lakha. Government data can go die and get moth eaten. That’s what always happens. Nobody will care if the census department tomorrow issues a press statement that they had some revisions and the number is 15%, not 5. The problem are--” he takes a sip, the tea smells of clay, “The politicians. They won’t let this die with the elections coming up. They timed this.”  
The best and worst time to eat into the morale of the Revolution, Shyam knows, everyone knows, nobody states because they are that tired with the increased scrutiny and raids. If only 5% of the state’s population gets marked out as tribals, then only 2% of that is marked out as dissenting, rebelling, naive outlaws.Nobody will care if they turn into mincemeat between the police and the BSF as long as Mantriji welcomes these truant subjects of his back into the folds of the mainstream with generosity and clemency on TV and in hoardings, and everything looks like it should in modern, liberal, progressive India.  
Shyam straightens up.  
“Giri Bhai, how many more can we house here?”  
“A few hundred more, Shyam Bhai. But with our current provisions…”  
“Provisions will come. Make it a few thousands.” Shyam looks around at the shocked faces, “Retreat. The forest is ours, is yours, and you have claimed it and held it for so long. The supplies will reach you, I will make sure of it. Retreat in the safe places, prepare for more company, and wait. Wait.”  
“For what?” Lakha asks, bewildered.  
Shyam smiles. “The government doesn’t just rob you. The only strength the bhumi-hara have is in each other. I will send them to you. They will speak a different language and look different, but they are as good and as of the soil as you are.And they have suffered much, much more than even how we suffer. Can you offer them refuge, for good? Because if you can’t accept them, we might as well die right now and let them take over.”  
Sudam notices how Giri’s eyes narrow, then begin to clear and gleam. Lakha--slightly overwhelmed, a lot more courageous than even he knows, blinks, and the deer in the headlight look is gone, “Bilkul!” he declares.  
“How many?” Bhim asks, everyone waits with bated breath. Too many may drown them.  
“Between five to six thousand. But they will look much much more than that. Just like we want them to.”  
The room heaves a collective sigh, that number they can contain within themselves and not get drowned in. The Shabars are a twenty-tribe-two hundred and fifty thousand strong group. That’s how they have survived.  
Shyam looks around the room searchingly, he seems to be satisfied by what he sees.  
“Then retreat. Nobody knows the Forest as well as you do. The provisions will reach you in the agreed places. Lie low, and prepare. More shelters, more unit-leaders, more security. The next time you see Sudam, he won’t be alone.”

“Ji, Kinu Bhai”, Giri’s voice is a guttural assurance that rumbles like the earth would rumble, and settles on the room.  
Shyam flashes a grin at him,”We will see how long they stick to the 2%.”

\-----

“It’s only a matter of time, Shyam.” Aditya Sa’ab purrs.  
Shyam leans back against the stuffed upholstery of the deckchair. “It is.” he agrees.  
Aditya Sa’ab adds another ice cube to his fruit punch, “The land is dead ground for agriculture. The location is perfect. My production currently is chock-blocked. We need new facilities. The government is more than willing but afraid to commit. But,” he takes a slow, appreciative swig, “You already know this.”  
“I can help you smoothen it.” Shyam looks over the rim of his teacup. Only the best of Darjeeling for Aditya Sa’ab, Shyam likes the non-green version better.  
“How?” Aditya Sa’ab leans forward.  
“My boy Parth is currently suffering under the yoke of the Ministry of Rural development and doing jack as an advisor. We are thinking of making him join the Lok Sabha this year, not the Rajya Sabha, He can be the vanguard of progress and industrialisation in the barren Khandavs.”  
“If he does so,” Aditya Sa’ab is as sonorous and Giri is guttural, Shyam thinks, “Aditya Corps will ensure that Khandav stays the seat and personal playground for him through his great-grandchildren.”  
Shyam smiles. “You will have chosen well. And they will be grateful to have found such strong an alliance.”  
Aditya Sa’ab gives him a lazy wink. “Now, “ he drawls, “The tribals. How will you manage the bad press?”

\-----

Parth is all shining white knight fifteen seconds in the discussion. Shyam secretly thanks Dadaji for feeding him all of Nehru at puberty; some things learnt too early cannot be unlearnt. Ajat and Bua won’t be this easily assured or acquiescing, he knows, and for very good reasons too. So, the moment Ajaat enters the room, Shyam shoots him a careful look and asks, “What is the price for Parth getting a constituency he can never lose in?”  
Ajaat pauses, calibrates, and names two-fifth of their party fund.  
“Very cautious,” Shyam laughs, “But that will more than suffice for the janta.”  
With Parth out of the room-- to research Khandav on the internet, to ask for the reports and projections from his secretary, to summon his think tank for the official relaunch of Khandav as Indraprastha (after his commanding officer, who, from all that Shyam has heard, played favourites, made good army, and definitely had something going with Pritha Bua that Parth is blissfully ignorant of-- he has noticed how Pritha Bua’s eyes glaze over everytime Parth says “The closest to a father figure for me”) -- Shyam sits down quietly with Pritha, Ajaat and Sahadev to sort through the deliveries, the volunteer groups and NGOs, the media. None of them are happy about it, and Shyam can’t blame them, but the stakes are high enough, and what Shyam offers at least helps with their guilt.  
\----

Nobody truly understands Parth’s references to the phoenix bird but they all follow his repeated declarations of how Indraprastha will be born out of Khandav’s ashes-- a miracle of a smart city, full of technology and planned city mapping the way Panditji wanted his modern India to be. Aditya Sa’ab’s solemn undertakings to assist in sharing the social responsibility of young, courageous modern Indian statesmen (ex-military, no less) and their truly patriotic endeavours is sublime: Shyam, from the other end of the forest can sense both the stock market and the city folk perking their ears.  
The actual hosing down begins at dawn, with the media strictly on check. Parth is extremely visible. Shyam, filling the buses in the back, is distinctly not. “The fire,” Ta’kshaka had told him the day before, defeated, “we can do nothing with. It’s not like the police we can stop with our bodies. No, we don’t want to burn.”  
“What about the money? They paid you well.” Shyam had asked.  
“What use is money to build with if we can’t have a place to build on?” the leader’s voice was raw with exhaustion, “We will have to scatter. If we scatter, the money won’t last. The children will turn into daily labour in the big cities. We will have lost our way of life.”  
“I may know of a place....”, Shyam said, “And no, keep your money. Use it to build a life there.”  
\-----

They say, Commander J.S. Indra wasn’t much impressed with his junior officer’s pursuits and smacked him in public. The media storm could begin to get ugly even with Aditya Corps’ influence, except the media got distracted from the insurge of refugees in Bihar, and the way the Naxal belts have risen to the occasion where the Indian government has clearly failed. A happy Ta’kshaka’s face blazes across TV screens, grinning, declaring this forest much greener, more lush, with more water and fertile soil than the tribe could ever have believed, with the wonderful, wonderful people who let them make a home with them. Giri is arm in arm with him (Giri’s the only one who doesn’t have a warrant to his name) telling the young woman from Zee News how they all face the same troubles and if one can’t be respectful of cultural differences, one doesn’t deserve to be human. The last of the Shabars would die to protect the rights of their Naga brothers and sisters. “We like it here,” Ta’kshaka smiles at the camera, “We will use the money they forced on us to build our own village here. We will demand our rights from the government for tribal land here.” He smiles shyly, “They want to call it Takshashila.”  
\---


End file.
